A Most Dangerous Game
by StrawberryPajamas
Summary: The residents of DM don't think they can handle another disaster, that is, until a mysterious visit at the hands of one supposedly trustworthy client might force the coworkers to face something bigger than any of them could imagine. Set around S2 AU
1. Queen Ana the First

**A/N: This story was inspired by _The Most Dangerous Game_ by Richard Connell, which is an amazing short story. Those who haven't read it really should. I totally recommend it.

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A Most Dangerous Game

_Darkness. Horrible, compressing, insufferable darkness was all she could comprehend. It filled her every sense; it consumed her very being, her very soul – there was no escape from it as she wrestled with the monstrous demon that seemed to eradicate all the air around her. _

_Breathe; she told herself over and over again. Just breathe._

_With the hugest effort that had ever cost her, she gasped – and wonderful, clean air returned to her, filling her aching lungs with oxygen. She gulped some air again, and felt sensation return to her fingers and toes. Her head stopped spinning, her world stopped slipping away..._

_But still, something wasn't right. Warm blood trickled down the side of her face, tracing its way around cuts and bruises that adorned her visage. She couldn't see a thing around her, and for one panicked second, she thought she had gone blind. But no, it was only night, and in the distance she could see the flash of headlights as cars passed by above, and the scent of earth around her told her she was lying in the grass. Something extremely heavy was pressed on top of her, pinning her to the ground on which she lay. Too weak to remove the burden herself, she decided to try looking around for someone or something to help her._

"_Help," she moaned, and her voice felt cracked and dry. Her mouth tasted like cotton, dehydration draining her of the little energy she had. She coughed, and couldn't continue._

"_Pam?"_

_Someone spoke a few feet away from her, their voice trembling and husky. Nevertheless, Pam recognized that voice, and it filled her with hope. With another huge effort, she shifted her body best she could under the deadened weight that was crushing her sternum, swallowed again, and croaked back:_

"_Michael?" _

_The voice wheezed with relief. "Pam, it's you! Are you okay?"_

"_I'm stuck," Pam winced as her parched throat seared with pain again. "But otherwise, I'm fine. Is everyone else okay?"_

"_Oscar and I are okay, but I think Jim broke his arm, and Kelly is still unconscious." Michael paused, and silence stretched between them. Pam swallowed again, wanting to voice the one thought that burned inside her mind from the moment she woke up, and flared up the longer she held her tongue._

"_Michael, I – I'm so... so sorry." Tears blurred Pam's vision, and her constricted voice could barely make it past her tortured vocal chords._

_She could hear Michael coming nearer, and felt him grapple for her hand in the dark. "Shh... Pam, it's okay."_

"_No, it's not okay." Pam whimpered, tears streaming down her dirt and blood-caked face. She suddenly gave a loud sob, her lungs expanding with difficulty under the car crushing her to the ground. Michael continued patting her hand, whispering comforting nothings in her ear. _

_Pam interrupted him however, the guilt threatening to explode inside her if she didn't speak. "_I'm_ the one who was driving the car. _I'm_ the one who overturned. _I'm_ the one who veered off the freeway and almost got us all killed! Now Jim's arm is broken and Kelly's probably dead, and it's all my fault – so don't you dare say that it's not!" _

_Pam's hoarse voice rose hysterically as she spoke, not even caring who else would hear or how much pain it cost her. When she finished, she began to cry in earnest, treasuring the pain and agony she was suffering through as her contrition. Michael stayed crouched beside her in the dark, grasping her hand throughout her outburst._

_He finally whispered to her. "Shh... it's all right. Pam, it's okay. Please Pam, stop crying. Everything is going to be fine..."

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_

Earlier that day...

Oh, what it felt like not to be bored... Pam really wished she knew.

The receptionist sat behind her desk, as usual, with her apathetic, vacant expression in place. A pad of paper lay before her and a long pencil twirled between her fingers absently as she stared at something only she could see. Her chin rested lazily on the palm of her left hand, her elbow propped up on the table before her.

Some phones bleated somewhere in the near-silence. It was an average Tuesday.

If only... _if only_... Pam sighed miserably, ceasing the rhythm her pencil made against the air and setting it on top of her pad of paper. If only there was something in this office that... well, that _inspired_ her. However, the most inspiration for a drawing she ever got in this place was of one of the office supplies: a phone, a copier, a paper clip...

_Maybe a noose? _Pam thought dryly, a bit of dark humor overtaking her thoughts as she picked up the pencil again and drew a sloppy, half-hearted loop with a string extending from one end. She began drawing a stick figure body with its head protruding out of the noose. The figure's eyes were X's and its tongue lolled out exaggeratedly; Pam's lips twitched when she looked at it. She was tempted to draw long, curly hair on it, but instead colored in dark, neatly-parted hair and added the heading: _Michael's Reaction After Steve Martin's Death._

Pam breathed out a small laugh and, feeling slightly cheerier, glanced around the office for something else to draw...

"Pamela!" Michael suddenly interrupted Pam's silent search as he bounded out of his office toward her. "'Pam-I-Am!'" The boss crowed in a high-pitched voice, "'I hate green eggs and ham!'"

Pam quickly shoved the pad of paper into a drawer and slid it shut. "Hi, Michael."

Michael was practically shivering with excitement. He smiled broadly at Pam before he sing-songed: "Guess wha-at?"

Pam sighed unenthusiastically. "Michael, I asked you not to do that."

His smile faded. "Oh. Yeah... sorry Spamalot, I forgot. But, anyway – " Michael shook his head slightly before grinning once again. "I've got awesome news... Her Gorgeous Majesty, Ana Lucia Sinclair, is visiting Dunder-Mifflin this morning!"

More often than not, one of Dunder-Mifflin's many clients stopping by for a visit was not cause for celebration. However, this news really did heighten Pam's mood slightly. Ana Sinclair was a woman who had taken over her late father's sheet metal company. She had no mother and was an only child, therefore she was the sole head of the small establishment, and had led the entire company to overwhelming success in a matter of weeks by means no one really knew but her. One of her modifications was switching paper providers from a big-league corporation to Dunder-Mifflin about a month ago, and that was how Pam had met her. However, it wasn't the powerful position Ana held in her company that intrigued Pam so: it was just the fact that Ana herself was such a likable person. The young woman, barely twenty-five years old, always seemed to love stopping by the small paper company whenever she had a chance, and the people of the office seemed to take to her immediately.

"Really?" Pam straightened up in her seat a bit, eyebrows raised.

"Yup," Michael bubbled, smirking widely. "Her Highness just called me... from her _throne room_." He giggled at his own joke that was probably only ever funny in the fourth grade.

Pam managed not to roll her eyes at her immature boss who was so obviously smitten. "What time did she say?"

"About eleven o'clock." Michael said matter-of-factly, squaring his shoulders in a sudden and uncanny impersonation of an actual employer. "So please let the other workers and the PPC know, will you?"

Pam blinked, and paused for a second before answering. "Wait – you... you want us to throw a party for her?"

"But uhv cou'se!" Michael relished in a fake and rather horrid French accent, flourishing his hand in front of him eloquently. Pam blanched slightly. "Ze go'juzz Ana desairves onlee ze best, duzz she not?"

Michael peered at her expectantly, as if she was really supposed to agree to planning an entire party within the hour. Pam sighed, choosing not to argue. "Fine, Michael."

"Excellent!" To Pam's enormous relief, Michael returned to his normal voice. "Here are just a few things we'll need..." And he handed her two pieces of paper covered with scribbled instructions, filled on both sides, and quickly turned back toward his office, clearly wanting to get himself ready for the visitor. Pam picked up the sheets, and scowled when she noticed almost everything she was meant to get was based on Saturday Night Live, for Pam knew that Ana was a fan. She realized Michael must have found out.

Pam read over the lists again. How on earth was she supposed to get a banner with Phil Hartman's face on it?

Pam was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't realize that someone was watching her. She looked up, jumped, and blushed slightly when she noticed Jim looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat awkwardly and threw her a swift smile before turning back around to face his computer completely. Pam stared sadly at his back now facing her, almost feeling as if a bucket of freezing water had been dumped on her, sending her reeling back into reality. She bit her lip anxiously before dropping her eyes to her hands, which were resting lightly on her desk.

Pam didn't need that reminder of _him_. She didn't need reminding of the biggest mistake of her life, nor of the dead weight place deep in her chest that only confirmed Pam's cowardice and shame.

She really, really didn't need that reminder. Not when she had forty-seven cutouts of Dana Carvey to purchase today by eleven o'clock, anyway.

~/~

At exactly eleven-oh-three, the door to the Dunder-Mifflin offices opened. And in stepped Ana Sinclair.

The first thing anyone would notice about Ana was that she was incredibly tall. Standing at a height of exactly six feet, she had the tendency of making other, shorter people feel intimidated. However, at a second glance, one would realize that Ana Sinclair was an exceptionally beautiful young woman. A long curtain of thick, black hair framed her oval face, which was pale in an innocently eloquent way. Her eyes were a deep, chocolate brown; warm and comforting in a motherly way. Today, she was wearing a black pantsuit with a deep purple silk blouse beneath. Instead of heels, Ana wore ballet flats, most likely to not draw too much attention to her towering height. A warm smile bloomed on the woman's face when she glimpsed Pam sitting at the desk, and the receptionist (though she felt like Michael for a horrible moment when she admitted it to herself) was reminded forcibly of a queen greeting her subjects.

"Hi Pam," she said brightly, striding up toward reception. Ana's voice was always breathy and sweet, like a warm, summer breeze. Pam couldn't help but beam back.

"Hi Ana. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Ana set her purse delicately on the counter, slipping her coat off her slim shoulders as she spoke. "And how are you?"

"Oh, you know..." Pam shrugged meekly as Ana hooked her coat on the rack next to her. "I'm doing all right."

"Really?" Ana's raven-colored hair swung slightly as she turned to face the receptionist again, arching an eyebrow skeptically. Pam couldn't help but giggle slightly in an embarrassed way.

"Yes." Pam said with more certainty, and Ana smiled at her, showing off rows of pearly white teeth.

"Fine... I guess I'll take your word for it."

Before Pam could respond, however, a loud squeal suddenly sounded from Michael's office door.

"Oooh, Ana's here!" Michael bounded forward, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Ana the Queen! Queen Ana the First, ruler of the realm of Dunder Mifflin...!"

Ana smiled at Michael as well, but Pam noticed that her grin was a lot less enthusiastic. "Hi Michael."

"Hello." Michael's giddy smile turned suddenly soppy, and Pam could tell that he was about to make an innappropriate comment. He suddenly leaned forward in a slight bow, "What can I do for you, Your Sexiness?"

Michael snorted with suppressed laughter, then glanced around for someone else to share in his joke. No one else did, and a silence hung awkwardly over them all for several long seconds.

Ana's smile faltered, and she cleared her throat. "Uh, well, Michael, I came here to see you and two other employees."

Michael straightened up, looking puzzled. "Wait... what?"

"I need to meet with you and two other employees." Ana repeated, now opening her briefcase and digging around inside, suddenly all-business. "A salesman and an accountant, preferrably. Do you think you could do that? And we have to make this quick, I'm in kind of a hurry."

"Um... yeah. Yeah, of course." Michael faltered, blinking in a confused way. Nevertheless, he led her into the conference room and promised he would have said employees in about five minutes. Ana nodded, setting her things on top of the table, before Michael closed the door behind her.

Michael turned back to his workers, who were all facing him silently, as if asking with their eyes who he was going to choose. The boss seemed to hear their silence loud and clear, and coughed awkwardly.

"Well," he said in a lame attempt of nonchalance. "You heard the Lady. Whom shall accompany me in to the Queen's Court?"

"Can you please stop with the royalty jokes?" Oscar voiced everyone's secret pleas. Michael scowled.

"Also, Michael, you made a grammatical error: you said 'Whom' when you meant to say 'Who'." Toby added in. At this comment, Michael began to look absolutely livid.

"Shut up, Toby! No one likes you... gah!" Michael waved him away lke a pesky fly. "You'll never have any friends. That's why Ana wants to meet with me and not you! So there." Michael glared at the other man, who looked as mild as ever, unconcerned with his fate as a friendless loser.

Suddenly, as if remembering that there was a client waiting for them in the conference room, Oscar piped up, "Michael, she said she wants to meet with three of us: you, a salesman, and an accountant." he stepped forward, obviously offering himself as one of the party.

"Hold on," Angela ordered briskly, stepping in front of her coworker while glaring at him. "_I'm _the head accountant, I think _I_ should be our representative in this meeting."

"Yes, but _you_ have a fiscal meeting to attend at twelve thirty-five." Oscar reminded her smugly, causing Angela's self-important expression to deflate in an instant. What replaced was a look of grudging agreement. She huffed before stalking away, arms tightly crossed against her chest.

"Great!" Michael bubbled, obviously ecstatic that he didn't have to sit a meeting with Angela. "Okay, now all I need is a salesman..."

Dwight leapt out of his seat so quickly that several of his desk toys went flying to the floor, bouncing in every direction. However, he didn't notice, for he was staring intensely at Michael. His hand shot in the air like a child in class trying to get the teacher's attention. "Pick me, Michael! Please? Pick me! I'll go to your meeting!"

Michael grimaced, obviously not wanting Dwight to cramp his style. "No, Dwight. You have work to do."

"I don't mind," Dwight insisted eagerly. "I finished my work here at ten fifteen..."

"No... Jim, you're comin' with me." Michael swiveled around and pointed at Jim. The calm salesman stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets in a cool manner. Dwight looked outraged, about to argue vehemently at the choice, but at that moment, Ana poked her head out the conference room door.

"Michael?" She glanced around the small office space, looking harried.

"Right!" Michael said quickly, turning around to face his employees. "Jim? Oscar? _Ah-pray vu_." he mock-bowed the two men into the room after him, speaking in his atrocious French accent. Neither Jim nor Oscar commented on it, but rather filed into the room after Michael and Ana, ready for the mysterious meeting they now had to attend.

Before entering the room, Jim turned and seemed to half-glance back at his desk. However, his eyes didn't rove over the familiar chair or computer screen in which he had played infinite amounts of minesweeper. His green eyes slipped past his area and over to reception, catching the eye of the woman who sat there. To her, his eyes seemed to burn a hole of intensity, allowing Pam to feel open and exposed, like butter left out in the sun. Her cheeks reddened as she stared back into them, refusing to blink.

_I wish it weren't like this, _Pam thought desperately, practically pleading with him with her eyes. Her heart seemed to clench around something infinitely complicated and unknown to her.

_I wish things were different_.

Jim looked at her for a second longer before turning back around to continue his way into the room, but Pam was left feeling utterly drained. She knew what his eyes were trying to tell her; she could read him like a book.

Unfortunately, a large part of her wished fervently that she would just forget how to read.

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**A/N: Okay, so this story will probably be the most intricate and convaluted story I have ever written so far, so for those of you reading this, please bear with me! I'm really, really excited to see how this whole thing turns out!**

**If you're confused about anything going on so far, feel free to PM me! But things will unwrap over the course of the story, so be patient!**

**Please review! **


	2. The Pym and the Fly

**StarStrewn – **Thanks for the review! I'm very glad you like the story so far:)

**evershort – **Thanks! Yeah, I tried to make Ana like one of those people you can't help but like, I'm glad you picked up on that. I have some interesting plotlines going along with her as well which I hope you'll like too:)

**Pandora** – Haha I'm glad you think this is good already! I apologize in advance that I'm not as skilled with romance stories like Nicolas Sparks is, but I'll do my best:)

**Emily92 – **Thanks a lot! Yeah, I love writing for Michael, 'specially when I'm showing off his softer side:) I'm glad you like the story so far!

**Jamfan2000** – Or should I say Puppyleigh3?:) haha I'm just kidding. Thanks a lot for the nice review(s)! I'm very much hoping that this story will turn out like some of my other ones that didn't suck as much as I thought beforehand lol.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in particular

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_Earlier that week..._

_A fly buzzed lazily over the heads of the Dunder-Mifflin office workers, its sound barely audible over the dull ring of phones in the background and the murmur of voices as each person spoke every so often._

_The small bug zipped back and forth, first over the head of a large man taking a nap at his desk, a book of crosswords tucked against his chest, then over an expanse of faded blue carpet. It finally decided on landing atop the wooden desk of a tall man with large glasses._

"_Jim," he hissed, eyeing the bug angrily. The other salesman looked up at him, a weary expression on his face._

"_Yeah Dwight?"_

"_There's a fly on my desk." Dwight barely moved his lips, still glaring down at the offensive insect._

"_Very good, Dwight."_

"_Just grab the fly swatter for me and shut your mouth." Dwight's eyes flicked up toward Jim's, now glaring at him in intense dislike. _

"_And how would I know where it is?"_

"_I stashed it in your desk three weeks ago, for your information: it was the day I got a new cleaver and didn't have any more room to hold it in _my _desk." Dwight said, his voice tinged with annoyance._

_This news highly disturbed Jim. "Wait – you went into my desk while I wasn't looking?"_

_Dwight's eyes were back on the fly, which was still sitting atop his desk, still as a statue. "Being Assistant Regional Manager gives me certain rights."_

"_'To the'," Jim corrected sternly. "And it does not."_

"_Whatever, just grab the fly swatter! It's in the bottom left-hand drawer." Dwight added._

"_Oh good, 'cause how would I know?" Jim rolled his eyes before leaning over and opening said drawer. He didn't keep much in that particular part of his desk – in fact, the only things in the drawer apart from the fly swatter was an old can of Coke and a loose battery, which rolled morosely toward him as he slid the small drawer open. He reached out and plucked up the fly swatter, which was black with a demented, busty anime chick splayed across its face, and drew it up with slow and careful deliberation._

"_Ugh, give it here, Jim!" Dwight snapped, his voice impatient. He reached over roughly to grab the swatter out of Jim's hand, but in his sudden movements, the fly quickly leapt off the desk and took off into the air, gone in the blink of an eye._

"_Goddammit! Now look what you did!" Dwight shouted, throwing the fly swatter down on his desk. "This is a complete disaster!" _

_Jim sighed, "Yeah, it is – but look on the bright side. We fought bravely, and we made it through this struggle together." He nodded his head solemnly. "There is no greater reward than that, soldier."_

_Dwight glared at his deskmate. "Do not mock me," He paused for a second, then added: "And my title wouldn't be 'soldier', it would be 'General'."_

"_Aye aye, Captain," Jim brought up a hand and saluted him, causing Dwight to look livid. A breathy giggle could be heard from Jim's right-hand side, and he grinned, loving the fact that she had watched the whole exchange._

"_You have just lost your permission to use the fly swatter, mister." Dwight hissed, picking up and brandishing the ugly utensil in Jim's face. He then leapt up, fly swatter in hand, and strided toward the kitchen, growling under his breath._

_Once he was gone, Jim was free to start laughing openly, which Pam joined in almost immediately. He looked over at her, and saw how her eyes lit up and how her fingers pressed against her soft lips so as to stifle her amusement, which was totally in vain, for Jim was sure her giggles carried all the way into the annex._

_Her laughter reached his ears, then trekked its well-worn way into his heart. _

_His pulse quickening, Jim finally met Pam's joyful eyes and her smile widened. Jim smiled back because he knew that he would do just about anything to make her happy like that, even if it was for the briefest of moments.

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A fly buzzed languidly above Jim's head as he sat in the stuffy conference room with Oscar, Michael, and Ana. His eyes followed the insect as it zipped from one side of the room to another. It dipped lower until it was about eye level, and zoomed around and around the table, as if happy to be part of the small meeting.

As Jim watched the little bug fly by, he thought of Dwight's ugly swatter now residing within Toby's filing cabinet. He thought of how he had listened to Pam's laughter and how he had opened the drawer and how he had seen the can of Coke...

That fucking can of Coke.

The fly landed for a split second on top of the conference room table before Jim lurched forward, slamming his hand down on the table with a loud thump, missing the fly by inches. It merely jumped up and flew away, unfazed.

Ana and Oscar, who had been discussing the fiscal budget, stopped suddenly in their conversation to look at Jim with raised eyebrows. Jim paid them no attention, glaring angrily at his hand, which was still pressed flat against the table. He wanted that fly dead. For some reason, just the thought of that little piece of vermin buzzing around the place made him want to –

"Jim?" Michael asked tentatively, then chuckled. "The fly's gone, buddy."

Scowling, Jim brought his hand back to his side.

Still eyeing Jim concernedly, Ana continued. "All right, I think we should get started on this meeting now." Ana inconspicuously straightened the small stack of papers in front of her. "Again, I would just like to apologize for coming here on such short notice and making you all meet with me in the middle of a workday. I know, you're all busy men, and the last thing I want to do is distract you from your respective jobs..."

Oscar, Michael, and Jim all shook their heads, expressing to her that it was no problem.

"But," Ana continued, now smiling slightly. "I think you'll find the time-waste well worth it."

She paused for effect, and all the men could do was stare at her interestedly.

Ana, still grinning, dug out one of the file folders from her stack and opened it. She took out the three sheets inside, and handed one to each man. Jim took his copy, glanced at Michael's and Oscar's, then looked down at his own sheet:

It was a reference.

"'Christopher Pym?'" Oscar read, glancing curiously up at Ana, who nodded. "What is this exactly?"

Ana bit her lip slightly before continuing, "I'm not supposed to reveal this to you, strictly speaking. As your client, and as a close friend with Mr. Pym, I feel that I'm violating certain ethical codes here. But this is a great opportunity, and I knew you guys just couldn't pass it up..."

Jim looked up at the raven-haired beauty before him, definitely intrigued now.

Ana went on, "What you have there is a reference for Mr. Christopher Marion Pym, the famed architectural designer from New Jersey. His company, Venorvir-Bestia Inc, needs a new paper supplier, and I recommended you guys. It's a good deal," Ana assured them, noticing that Oscar was about to interrupt with a question. "Mr. Pym is a very wealthy man, and doesn't care very much about price."

Jim kept looking down at the reference, frowning. He had many questions to ask Ana about this potential client, but Michael beat him to it, voicing the one question that was probably the least important in Jim's mind:

"How exactly do you know this Mr. Pym?" Michael asked, his brow scrunched like he was trying to grasp something beyond his intellect.

"He's my financial backer," Ana stated simply, nodding at Michael politely. She turned toward Jim and Oscar, obviously waiting for some real questions.

Oscar asked her something about Mr. Pym's financial background and such, which Ana answered for him cordially. Jim listened, noting how impressive the woman in front of him appeared: her hands were clasped before her, her posture straight and upright. She explained Christopher Pym's numbers and his price ranges, which were undoubtedly impressive. Her brown eyes were fixed on Oscar's, rattling off the essential information with barely a stutter in her voice.

Jim watched her without really realizing it. When she had finished speaking, her eyes slid over to Jim, and noticed that he was staring at her. He quickly looked away.

Michael, who had been studying the sheet in silence, suddenly spoke up. "Wait a minute, Ana... there's no phone number on here." He held out the sheet for her to see and pointed to the empty box.

"There's no email address either." Jim added, glancing down at his own reference.

Ana hesitated, biting her lip once again. "Yes, well... that's why I wanted to meet with the three of you. Mr. Pym, I guess you would say, is a bit of an 'old-timer'. He doesn't believe in telephones, computers, internet, or anything else you and I would consider a normal part of everyday work life."

There was a shocked pause as everyone in the room grasped what Ana had just said. Oscar was the first to voice everyone's shock: "Wait – you mean to tell us that you want us to make a deal with a man with absolutely no means of communicating with us?" He sounded completely dumbfounded.

Ana shrugged. "In some ways, I guess that's true. But Mr. Pym honestly doesn't mind driving down here every now and again if there's any issue with his account."

"So he owns a car?" Michael blurted out. Jim groaned.

Ana looked at Michael and chuckled slightly. "Um... yes Michael, he can drive. He's not completely Amish, you know." She caught Jim's eye and winked, causing him to hide his grin.

"But... but this is completely out of the question." Oscar sputtered, sounding livid. "You obviously want the three of us to drive down to this man's company in order to sell to him, and I guess it would be fine if it were just a sales call. But you said he wants to start an entire _account_ with us! With absolutely no way of communicating with us over phone or email! I mean, why only stop at three of us? Why not bring Kelly for his Customer Service issues, and Creed as well to instruct him in Quality Assurance...?"

Jim didn't know if he was imagining it, but a sudden flicker of fear seemed to cross over Ana's features when Oscar said this. She quickly interrupted, "Look, Oscar – just trust me on this one. If you _do_ decide to bring over Christopher as a client, it would be best for only a few of you to go. Believe me: the more people you bring to meet with Mr. Pym, the more you would regret it."

"But _why_?" Oscar's confusion seemed to trump his anger for a moment.

Ana paused, staring at him. She ran her tongue along her bottom lip nervously before saying slowly. "I just... I know Mr. Pym, and I know how he would react to only a few of you compared to, say, half the office." She took a deep breath. "Look, I know I can't force you to do anything; this is for you guys to decide. But I hope you guys do make the right choice."

Before Jim or anyone else could respond to this, Ana quickly gathered up her things, snapped her briefcase shut, and hurried toward the door, averting her eyes from the inquisitive stares.

Once she was gone, Oscar immediately turned to Michael. "Michael, I don't care what Ana says: if we take on a client with these many serious drawbacks, we're going to have to bring as many people as possible on this sales call..."

Michael was staring at the door, looking uncomfortable. "But... Ana _really_ doesn't think we should take more than three."

Jim looked down at the reference again. "Do we even need to jump through so many hoops for just one client?"

Oscar shook his head uncertainly, glancing down at his own reference. "I don't know. I mean, if what Ana said was true, then Mr. Pym's numbers are better than any of our other customers'. We couldn't afford to pass this up, considering how our company is going financially this year."

"Okay, so we just bring a few extra people to see Mr. Pym?" Jim looked between Oscar and Michael, honestly having no problem with it.

"I think that would be best," Oscar said quickly, "I still don't feel comfortable taking on such a unique case, but I really don't think we have any other choice."

Oscar and Jim both looked expectantly at Michael, hoping he would agree to this plan. The boss was still gazing pensively at the door, his brow furrowed, before he then looked around to face his two employees. A slow smile then formed on his face.

"All right, then," he nodded, grinning at the two men, and then down at his reference. "Let's hit the road! Tonight!"


End file.
